Packing Up
by LouiseKurylo
Summary: The trip is unexpectedly painful when Teresa Lisbon goes to pick up her personal possessions after the CBI was disbanded.
1. Chapter 1- Getting Her Stuff

**Packing Up**

**Who: **Lisbon

**What: **Claiming personal possessions after CBI was disbanded

**When: **A couple of months after "Red John" (S6,E8)

**Where: **CBI, Jane's extended stay motel room

**Why:** Reclaiming her possessions turns out to be surprisingly difficult

**Disclaimer: ** The author owns no part of The Mentalist series, characters, scripts, etc

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The trip is unexpectedly painful when Teresa Lisbon goes to pick up her personal possessions after the CBI was disbanded.

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**Chapter 1 - Getting Her Stuff**

For the last time, Lisbon looked around the empty 5th floor of the former CBI building. It was dense with memories of ten years of law enforcement work by her team. Her journey started there as a new unit manager, bending over backward to prove her toughness and capabilities. It ended with the CBI crumbling around her, destroyed from within by the rot of corrupt leaders and agents. _The CBI failed us. My team has every right to be proud of their work._ She turned and took the elevator down.

"I'm here to claim my personal possessions," Lisbon said, handing the FBI clerk her official postcard.

"Please state your name and former position. And I need a government photo ID showing your name."

"Lisbon. Senior Agent, CBI Serious Crimes Unit, 5th floor. Uh, do you also have boxes for Patrick Jane, same unit and floor?"

"I'm not supposed to release materials to anyone but the owner, m'am."

"Jane was my consultant. He's out of the country and your postcard specified today as the last day to retrieve our stuff." She fished around in her small purse. "Here. I have the postcard for Jane as well." She had forged Jane's signature and redirected his mail to her address, where she was saving it for him in a box.

He verified Jane's name on the second card. "Okay, if you sign with your name and former position, I guess I can release his things to you as well."

"Thank you."

Lisbon borrowed a hand truck to wheel the boxes out to the car. She was glad to be getting her professional mementos, pictures, and office items before she had to relocate to Washington. She loaded her stuff into her new SUV, having bought it after turning in the state-owned CBI vehicle. She returned for five boxes of Jane's possessions–almost all books. _Does this make any sense? I don't know when I'll see him again, or even _if_ I'll see him again._ She sighed._ So what? A few more boxes in my storage locker won't matter. Shouldn't just leave them here._

Driving down Juniper Street Lisbon hesitated almost too long, then made an uncomfortably sharp right turn at the last minute. She parked at the extended stay hotel and took twine, several large plastic bags and three collapsed banker's boxes up to Jane's rented room. She opened the door with the spare key Jane had given her for emergencies. The room smelled stale, unused as, indeed, it was.

It was about two months after Bertram, Cordero, and McAllister were killed and Jane disappeared. She was relocating to take a new position in a small town in Washington state. The moving company was coming the next day and she wanted to tie up all loose ends in Sacramento. She covered the dozen suits with plastic bags, fastening the tops around the hanger hooks with twine. Jane had retained a taste for expensive suits after his psychic days and the dozen suits represented almost thirty-thousand dollars worth of clothing. They smelled faintly like him– shampoo, soap, deodorant. The personal effects were even scantier from the hotel room than from the CBI. She laid the suits in the back of the SUV, alongside two boxes of other clothing and toiletries. That was it. She stood at the open door to the SUV, staring stupidly at Jane's suits and boxes. A pile of suits and seven boxes were the only tangible evidence of nine years of working with Jane. That and a faint scar on her shoulder from O'Laughlin's bullet from one of Jane's many attempts to get Red John. Tears suddenly streaming down her face, _Damn it. How do you go from working with someone five days a week for nine years to nothing in an instant? _ Lisbon angrily dragged her sleeve across her face to wipe off the tears. After pulling herself together, she informed the hotel clerk that Jane wouldn't be renewing the lease next month, gave him the key, and drove to her townhouse to finish packing.

Late that night, everything was as finished as it could be. After showering, she got carry-out Thai food and ate if from the cartons with a plastic fork. She poured wine into a plastic cup and relaxed on the couch–the only comfortable place left in the townhouse. The realtor would have her townhouse cleaned and painted before putting it up for sale. Suddenly, she was done. There was nothing more to do, no TV to watch, no friends who would welcome a call so late at night. There was nothing to distract her from her thoughts, welcome or not.

_Two months and no word from Jane. Not even any news about him. The FBI never let me get the message from my cell. Evidence. That call must have been Jane. At least he wasn't among the dead bodies. At worst he might have been hurt, but not bad or there would have been word by now. Minelli's back-channel info is that Bertram was killed with Cordero's gun. Cordero also had my gun, I guess from Jane. It hadn't been fired, thank God. I think Abbott bought my explanation that it was taken from my car. If Cordero killed Bertram, then Bertram _wasn't_ Red John?! McAllister. McAllister was supposed to have died in the explosion at Jane's house. Instead he was found dead in the park holding the gun that gun killed Cordero. It also wounded McAllister, who sure as hell didn't shoot himself!_ _McAllister didn't die from the bullet, he was strangled. _She shivered._ Crime of passion. Ten years of grief, frustration and guilt. I assume, anyhow. _But she knew in her bones it was true. Despite nearly 20 years in law enforcement, homicide was different when someone she knew was involved. She swallowed a lump in her throat, profoundly grateful at how it turned out._ Jane wasn't killed, probably not hurt. And he chose life. God, I was afraid, afraid once he got Red John there wasn't enough reason for him to continue. The last three years took an awful toll on him._

_My CBI memories are mostly good. Jane? Five boxes of books, some clothes and some personal effects, that's it. No home, no family, no hobbies, no friends–other than us. His whole life was Red John for ten years. Determination and pain. That's all I saw when we met. He seemed to gain hope and pride when he realized his talents could be useful at CBI. Once he settled in you could see what he must have been like...before. Fun, clever, delighted in life. Except it was all surface. The pain was still there, underneath. He became friends with the team. And I know I helped him cope. He was just as determined but seemed calmer, more balanced. And then ever since Vegas he got more and more grim. How many times could he narrowly miss getting Red John before it broke him? So at last he got Red John. I pray to God he's finally at peace. But, now what? What's he doing now?_

She got up and poured more wine. _At least I landed a new job quickly. Ordinary stuff. A steady paycheck and a sane, straight PD will be a relief. Rigsby and Van Pelt have started their own surveillance agency. Rigsby's solid and Van Pelt has the brains to make a go of it business-wise. And Cho just signed on withi the FBI in Texas. After Cho nearly triggered a blood bath pushing Abbott to release Jane, Abbott gets him hired at the FBI. Go figure. Of course, Abbott could use a little seasoned help. Looks like he got saddled with a whole class of newbie agents from the FBI academy. _She smiled a tight little smile. _Serves him right, the arrogant SOB. At least he finally figured out my unit wasn't dirty. Bertram's corpse may have given him a clue. Now, if he'd only back off of Jane. Not likely. There's a whole raft of charges filed against Jane, who's now officially a wanted fugitive._

_What next? One day follows another. Running a PD is honorable work. I'll do some good. As long as Jane's on the run, there's nothing to think about there. I wanted to go with him to get Bertram–or McAllister I guess? But if I'm honest, I really wouldn't want to be on the run from murder charges. I thought the law could take Red John down, but maybe Jane was right. McAllister was s'posed to be dead. Who knows, he even might have beaten any charges. Jane __had__ to finish Red John off or die trying. Melodramatic. Except, it was the absolute truth for Jane. Damn, I miss him._

She finally pulled a blanket over herself and set the alarm on her cell phone to be up for the movers. Ten years in Sacramento. Done.


	2. Chapter 2 - Left But Not Forgotten

**Chapter 2 - Left But Not Forgotten**

Lisbon watched the moving van pull away with all_-no. most-_of her worldly possessions. She knew she'd have to arrive in Cannon River, Washington ahead of the truck. There were no friends, not even acquaintances who could meet it for her to open up the house (_She had a house! She actually owned a house now!_) and tell the movers where to put the boxes and few pieces of furniture.

But there was something she had to do first. She'd catch up with the truck later.

Lisbon glanced over her shoulder at the jumble of boxes, oddly-shaped, difficult-to-pack, and fragile possessions that couldn't go in a moving van but had to travel in her SUV. It was almost hidden, but she remembered exactly where that small box was. Her fingers sought the two keys she'd added to her keyring, double-, no quadruple-checking that she had remembered to keep them out. It was the key to a storage locker plus a padlock key. Jane gave them to her years ago when he'd given her a spare key to his extended stay hotel room for emergencies. _In fact, it was about then he listed me as next of kin, authorized to act on his behalf in medical emergencies. Too bad he never 'authorized' me to help with the Red John emergencies._ She sighed and resolutely shoved away that thought.

Backing out of the parking space, Lisbon again glimpsed the small, almost-hidden box. She felt better than she had when she'd rescued his suits and books and odds and ends yesterday afternoon. The corners of her mouth pulled up in a slight smile.

_I do have a little more left from him, of him._ _There's __the__ original origami frog. And the letter from Lee Skelling, thanks for the money he and Cho sent his way from that bastard Carnelian CEO. I went back and got the baseball, too. That baseball cost me an afternoon of hassle in hand-holding and prodding Jane to get the damn MRI he needed. At least he shut up-sort of-when it turned out he did have a concussion. I saved Alexandra Yee's thank you note for the $300,000. The transplant saved her mom's life. Secretive as he is, we'd never have known except for that letter. Grace opened it when I was at a seminar. The guys had a field day chewing over that. Not with Jane around, of course, or he'd have found some way to deny it and make them pay for assuming something good, and sweet, and soft-hearted about him. There's the queen of hearts from the card trick he pulled on me. -I wonder, did he choose that card? And whose heart was she queen of? Did Jane ever do anything randomly, without thinking?_

She took a breath and refocused on her driving. _Better not go there. Then there are the newspaper clippings. Jane's theft of the stolen painting from that embassy. It took me three letters and an hour of begging to get Jane out of that one. How fitting that so much of this stuff is stuff he got in trouble for. _She gave a sudden, sharp bark of a laugh. _How ridiculous! Jane would get in trouble for using the law to force the Carnelian CEO to give Skelling what he owed him, while the whole damn bureau was shot through and through with corruption. It's enough to make me see things Jane's way... Almost._

She scanned the road for the storage locker sign, found it and pulled in. She went into the office. She'd never been here before.

"I need to change the billing address for a storage locker. " Jane had it on auto-pay but she knew the FBI had frozen his assets when they declared him a fugitive. It was just a 5' x 5' locker and she would pay it for him. At least for now. It took just a moment to make the change and she was outside again, anxious to get going, to catch up with _her_ stuff.

She took a step toward her SUV, sighed, and paused. _Okay. Don't know when I'll be back in Sacramento. And I really should be sure this is what I think it is._ She took out the key, determined the locker number, and made her way there. It was a temperature- and humidity-controlled locker near the front office. She unlocked the two locks-one from the facility and Jane's padlock-and pulled up the roll-up door. Sunlight was more than enough to check out the contents of the small locker. Everything was neatly labeled and packed, obviously the work of a commercial moving service. She scanned a few labels. _Photo albums. Framed photographs. Dolls. Child's artwork..._ She abruptly rolled down the door and clicked the padlock closed, leaning against the cool corrugated metal. _Yeah, Definitely have to keep paying the rent on this._

She shook herself a little, walked back to her SUV and drove off in pursuit of her moving van. She was moving on. Almost.


End file.
